A/N: New chapter, new disclaimer, new day. What can I say? Enjoy.

Warning: references to sex and all things sexy later on. It's an M, folks – it pretty much earns its rating, I think. No, Harry's not going to wake up and have a threesome with Ginny and Remus in his head. No. I don't think it's all that serious, really, but hey. You've been warned.

Chapter 9: Tobias' First Test

The meeting with Dumbledore had gone better than he'd dreamed.

Harry lay still in his pallet in the dungeon, relishing the silence surrounding him even more than usual. He grimaced slightly as he moved his head by mistake – the damn headache from that bloody language charm just wouldn't go away.

It had been a bloody week – no – two weeks, at least, since he'd started using it every night. Harry closed his eyelids, still slightly sore, as were many parts of his new – well, perhaps not so new body. Severus had cracked down on him after the meeting he'd arranged with Dumbledore with an almost frightening intensity, conducting lessons entirely in Romanian as soon as Harry had begun to swear in it.

It didn't mean the headaches hadn't started by then, of course. Harry shifted his long limbs carefully, hating the morning, this morning he'd woken up to, just like so many others, with a mind-numbing headache from the effects of the overnight charm Remus put dutifully on him every night. It wasn't supposed to be employed this long – this was, as Severus had sneeringly informed him, supposed to enhance his cover, to make him have to work to speak English, just like the real 'Tobias' would do in his situation.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, staring at the low, dark ceiling. It had taken almost a week for Dumbledore to finally see him, to finally bother – but it had been worth it.

It had gone so well that he'd begun to wonder if that wasn't what the weary Headmaster of Hogwarts had had in mind all along…

"Harry, Severus told me of your idea – your plan…"

Dumbledore's voice was slightly tired, probably from all the meetings and attacks – the Ministry was in the middle of a very bad run, losing people left, right and centre, or so he was told –

The old wizard had looked him straight in the eye, something he'd avoided doing during the last visit, which was absolutely –

"I think it is a brilliant idea, Harry," Harry could hardly believe what he was – what Dumbledore was – "And, if you don't mind, I would like to expand on it, just a little – "

Harry smiled bitterly, slowly, now. The little expansion had eaten up the rest of their training time that evening, and Severus had pushed him hard enough that week, ignoring his protests, to make up for the lost two or three hours. Understandably, learning Apparation had not come easily to him then – not for lack of abuse on Severus' part, of course. By the time his obsessed father – no, dad had calmed down, he'd possessed a new pattern of bruises on his already rather marked body. He could hardly complain, though – he'd gotten into the discussion of plans for Hogwarts, and had been just as involved in it as Dumbledore and Snape had been…

"Weekly updates, at the least," Severus was saying excitedly, charming a quill to write down the myriad suggestions all of them were spouting, "especially in the first week – to let me know how the Slytherins in your year factors into the plan – "

"It would probably be a good idea to tell me as much as you know about them first – so I know where not to push, or something – "

"But of course – this whole exercise would be pointless if you do not go into it knowing exactly what you are getting into…" Black eyes flicked up at him, surveying him. "…I will probably have to teach you how to lie, into the bargain – "

"Excuse me?" Harry frowned, in half surprise, half amusement, but Dumbledore was nodding his head sagely.

"Misdirection is the most important lesson you will learn as a spy, Harry – you will need it to know when others around you are lying, when you should be lying, and when you need to tell the truth – or some of it."

He bit his lower lip, ignoring the fact that there was less of it to bite, for now.That had been one of the oddest parts of his training, in many ways. Severus never mentioned it during duels, or even while goading him in rapid Romanian, but every evening, he sat Harry down and had him reel off a list of statements and ask him to support or defend them. It was really tricky, knowing when to stop, sometimes –

"For Merlin's sake, Tobias – I would have believed that one if you had just kept your mouth shut – concentrate, focus on the person you are convincing, watch the signs – you will know when to stop – "

"And what if I don't!" Harry shouted back at him – they'd spent more than a bleeding hour on this, and his head was killing him –

"Then you use your skills, you fool. Tell me you haven't forgotten everything I taught you – "

Harry levered himself gently off the bed. He'd balked when told he'd have to use Legilimency until he learned how to tell easily when people believed or didn't believe him – Voldemort had unsuccessfully subjected him to his acidic form of the art several times during his captivity, and he'd known he would never be very eager to return the favour to him, or anyone else, without some form of permission.

Unless, of course, it was someone like Dumbledore or Malfoy, in which case he'd need any advantage he could get.

Harry grinned slowly – the one he'd been told to practise, as usual, now – as he sat up properly, gingerly stretching his aching muscles. The Easter Holidays started sometime soon, he could remember that – and already he and Severus had begun to plot Tobias' 'arrival' in the village, knowing they would soon need to make a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase things for 'Tobias', and – which was most important – finally pick up Harry's wand. Severus had been raving about Ollivander's stubborn refusal to relinquish the thing to anyone but Harry for a long time now, and it would be a relief to cross that off the list of Things My Father Rants About.

The List, so far, included anything from the Vadims (their daughter seemed to irritate Severus without fail) to the spell books (which apparently left out the proper, rather painful way to better one's Wall Charm) to Harry himself. It was a rather long list with or without the Ollivanders, but Harry was firmly of the opinion that every little helped.

Harry made his way carefully across the dungeon, noting Severus' absence – probably asleep next door, or gone, if it was that late in the morning – as he Accioed his drab towel. He wanted a long soak – preferably in water that was piping hot, with Iona trying to drown herself alongside him – but knew better than to do so without checking his disagreeable father was somewhere nearby. This morning, however, instead of dragging his protesting body over to the next dungeon and flinging all his weak morning strength against the door (for that was how that door was opened – by brute physical force, or by a force spell that always tired him just as badly, as the bloody temporary wand didn't do that spell), he cast a small notification charm, and smiled to himself when it worked.

Someone was there, asleep – and that was bloody well good enough for him –

Harry barged into the bath-dungeon – he'd been wavering between 'bathroom' and 'bath-dungeon' for weeks, and felt like today was a 'bath-dungeon' day – and spelled the ancient tub full of steaming water. Looking around for Iona, he cursed – in English – when he realised he'd forgotten her in his dungeon. Returning for her did not feel like an option, especially not when that warm water was beckoning to him…

Charming his temporary wand to stay afloat, he spelled his favourite soap into the water – an odd, weakly bubbling concoction he'd found in one of the dusty old Romanian guidebooks that stank of spiced pumpkin and melon but left you smelling faintly of apple cider – and got in, hissing delightedly as the water stung his skin and wincing as he sat down rather hard on a particularly tender spot.

Harry closed his eyes, dragging wet fingers through his messy hair as he wriggled down into the tub. As severe as his panic attack had been, it just could not dissuade him from taking a fairly luxurious dip when he could have used a Cleansing Charm – they just didn't feel the same. Certainly not as warm and sleep-inducing as this…

Harry twisted and tipped his head into the water – just enough to wet his hair properly – before scrabbling for the wand so he could put more of the soapy concoction on it. It seemed to agree with his hair – it actually had a sheen now – so he'd begun to make an effort to use it every so often. His scalp tingled mildly as he sank down pleasurably once more, hoping he'd have more than just a few minutes in the hot water.

Fifteen minutes later – seemed like that, anyhow – Harry began to scrub himself gently, shying away from the most tender portions of his skin. He avoided looking too closely at his skin, as always – he wondered sometimes, dispiritedly, if even Mad-Eye was as scarred as this. The only places that were really scar-free were his lower arms – and that was because his skin had healed, somehow. Most of them weren't very obtrusive, to be sure – mostly fine, deep lines from the awful Blood-Boiling Curse and a place or two where his skin had been burnt beyond remedy, as well as that nasty, jagged scar on his upper left arm. His face didn't count – there was that blasted scar, wasn't there, as well as several scratches on his cheek and neck. Why, even his thing had something…on it.

Merlin – not now –

Harry bit his lip to keep from cursing, again. He'd heard something from next door – Eavesdropping Hex, on the door to this dungeon, just in case – that signalled Severus was up, moving grumpily about as was his wont. It only made him more uncomfortable to know his father was somewhere nearby while he was – erm – erect.

There was no other way to put it.

Erect. Aroused. At attention. Signalling. Up for it.

"Nemernic (1) – ridicol (2) – " He seized his floating wand, wincing as the slightly cooled water swirled around him – it would be so easy, just to touch himself, just once, he hadn't for so long –

"Nici un (3)." he ordered himself, not caring what language he was speaking. Veron had touched him there – paralysed him once, and brought him to an agonising, deeply humiliating climax, just for the fun of it –

Harry could feel the water warming about him slightly, and forced himself to relax, to start massaging his scalp, to try to ignore – but, by Merlin, he was getting harder, and the weak bubbles of the spicy soap around him weren't helping, and neither was the water. Rinsing out his hair by dunking his head briefly under the steaming water didn't help either – shifting just made him harder –

"Bine (4). Fine." Harry touched himself, and was surprised that none of the memories assailed him – vague recollections of disgust and shame swamped him, but it was bearable, compared to the panic, and it was really quite –

Bloody – that's –

He sighed, closing his eyes, letting the rusty pleasure sweep through him, better memories coming forth, of furtive touching on restless nights, with red curtains spelled shut around him. Of red hair –

He bit his lip lightly as he came – silence came easier now – and pinked slightly, scrabbling for his wand. The water was no less warm, but no longer quite as clean, and he wiped himself gently, Vanishing the familiar-smelling mess, wandlessly Summoning his grey towel, which hung suspended on a nearby hook. Dull triumph washed through him as he realized he'd been able to touch himself for the first time, without thinking of – Lucius. Without feeling even dirtier than usual, too.

It was a privately auspicious day, then. And, as Harry rubbed himself dry, he allowed himself a proper look. Foreskin intact. A bit thinner, a little longer.

Nothing to worry about, in any case.

The sense of triumph increased twofold, following him back to the dungeon, along with the feeling that life was, in its own way, returning to normal.

If normal could be called Iona's angry hiss at being left behind, of course. But he wasn't complaining, was he? This was good enough, for now.

And, who knew – it might get even better. Harry wondered if he'd be able to show his skin to another human being, apart from Severus or Remus or even Dumbledore. He smiled again, pacifying Iona with a delicate Warming Charm.

Better not push my luck.

Severus Snape stretched luxuriously, rubbing out the kinks in his arms – no doubt because he'd slept so awkwardly on them. He shrugged, reaching for the worn old dressing gown crumpled at the foot of the thin pallet so he could cover himself. He'd slept unclothed – again.

Severus yawned tiredly, somehow pulling on the wretched thing. It was getting to be a habit, this. Looking back on the hard work he'd put in the previous evening, he could not find it in himself to regret it, however. The boy – his son – was finally getting somewhere. They'd argued just before stumbling into bed, over something he could not quite recall – probably some unimportant detail Tobias sees fit to be foolishly stubborn about – and done so in fluent Romanian. Interspersed here and there were a few choice English words, such as idiot and uncomprehending fool, which Severus had not seen fit to translate, but it had been well done, on the whole. Harry – Tobias, he had to get in the habit of thinking that way, or they were both doomed – had used the entertaining string of insults he'd found in one of the newer guidebooks, grinning foolishly at the end when Severus had grudgingly allowed that his pronunciation was good.

Har – Tobias was simply a glutton for affirmation – another habit his father had not quite put to death yet. It would not do for him to become sympathetic to an enemy simply because they repeatedly told him he was a very good wizard, or some other such nonsense. The fact that he was – or will be, once he excises some of his more pathetic faults – a rather proficient wizard was beside the point, and something the boy himself just could not seem to grasp. Severus smirked to himself – he'd have to work on that, too, as quickly as he could – Snapes were all proud, to a fault, of qualities they had.

Of some they didn't, too, to be sure – but that, again, was beside the point.

"Tobias?" Severus called out, opening the door to 'his' dungeon with a forceful flick. Always been troublesome, this one – constantly creaking and letting in all sorts of foul creatures…where is that boy –

"Da, îmi pare de rãu (5) – I'm in my dungeon…Anything going on?" The voice that answered was frighteningly similar to his own – still haven't gotten used to that – and was deeper in timbre, lightly slower than normal. The accent Har – Tobias had worked (unwillingly) to acquire was there in full force. Severus found his lips twitching into an odd, unaccustomed smile, and stilled them immediately. Though they were deep into the weekend and his absence from Hogwarts would cause no suspicion, they had no time to waste.

Really, Severus thought absently, seizing a dry towel before he departed for the 'bathroom', they had a lot of things to go over before Tobias could 'arrive' at the Manor. They would have to do it properly, too – Dumbledore had managed to secure a passport for a look-alike and have the poor fool Apparate into the hidden station not five miles from here. There, 'Severus' (for Albus had thought it far too risky for the real Potions Master to perform such a function, as he would not be able to lie about it if questioned) and 'Tobias' would meet, argue and return stealthily to Snape Manor, and then they would wait for a convenient moment to visit Diagon Alley. He would Floo the Headmaster, who would announce that he would be 'unavailable' for the next few days, and then they would travel to Hogwarts together on the Express (disagreeing as publicly as possible), and Tobias would make his entrance.

On opening the dungeon door, Severus stilled slightly, sniffing the air – if he wasn't mistaken, that was the –

Ah. He directed the towel to hang itself, and filled the old, rickety tub, Scourgifying it first, for good measure. It appeared, though Har – Tobias had hidden any other traces admirably, that his sexual drive was active again.

Severus sighed, dipping into the warm water with no preamble, absently adding too many bubbles. He'd been expecting it for some time – been rather alarmed when it had not surfaced last week, in fact – but it still came as a shock. That his son had pleasured himself in here, possibly in the tub itself –

Scrubbing hastily, Severus rinsed himself off, Summoning the towel. Presently, he really didn't want to sit in the thing. It amazed him how nauseating the thought was to him – he who was no stranger to the permutations of sexuality. Roughly drying his pale skin, Severus found himself wondering if his son would ever be normal – would ever regard sex, and everything pertaining to it as most wizards did. Severus cast a short Cleansing spell on his slightly damp hair, his movements slowing as he thought back to the horror of watching someone he'd once thought a true ally touching his son's weakened, bloody form.

The towel dragged on the floor as its handler glared malevolently into space, fists clenching and unclenching. Severus did not let himself think about that awful occurrence while Harry was there – he could not. If he did, he'd simply abandon the boy's set lessons and teach him the vilest Dark Curse he knew, then Floo them both over to Malfoy Manor, conveniently wrapped in the boy's Invisibility Cloak.

Dumbledore, of course, would have his head, not to mention his intestines and genitals, if something as drastic as that happened. But Severus, breathing harshly in the close dungeon, knew very well that there were situations where there was room to manoeuvre, where either of them could successfully argue the expediency of slaughtering Lucius Malfoy.

And when that day comes…Severus smiled bitterly. Well. By then, Harry would surely know a suitably Dark, painful curse, and would use it, and use it well.

Severus finally blasted the sopping towel with a Drying Charm and hung it absently up. As pitiful as waiting for that day was, it was surely better than letting the bitterness swamp him and paralyse him. Lucius Malfoy would have an end – a gory one – and Severus could, and would rest easier if he knew it.

For he well knew that, when Harry – damn it all, Tobias – it's Tobias – practised the more borderline of the restricted spells his father knowingly taught him, he thought of the same thing. The Dark Lord – the images Severus had unknowingly gleaned from his son's mind to that effect were horrifying – and Lucius, in seventy different kinds of agony. And if Tobias seemed to have a predilection for both or either of them spouting blood and/or shrieking in agony, well – who was his father to disabuse him of such noble dreams?

"Took your time, did you?" the sarcastic remark came, as soon as Severus had set foot in the duelling room. Tobias fidgeted before him, dark green eyes a cool contrast to his twitchy form. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"

"Nici un. Nothing is wrong." Severus made a beeline for the unoccupied seat before him, sinking easily into it. Tobias, he noticed, winced as he sat across from him – "Are you in pain?" The boy scowled darkly.

"Only from that bloody language charm. The rest is superficial – no point wasting Pain-Relief Potion just because I wasn't fast enough on my nemernic feet yesterday." The boy blinked, surprise flashing briefly across his features. "Did I just…again…?"

"You swore, yes. In Romanian." Severus leant forward, triumph surging through him. "You sound like a native – educated, but definitely foreign. I told you – "

" – the charm would work. I get it." Severus found himself smirking – the boy sounded so much like him. Tobias even snapped like he did, it was really – "Wipe that proste (6) smirk off your face – don't we have anything better to do?"

"As you are sufficiently prepared," Snape said, ignoring his son's glare as he rose to his feet once again, "we shall begin. Rudentis ligo!"

A fast, furious duel ensued, peppered thoroughly with swearing in Romanian. Severus had just blocked a rather violent Tearing Hex with rather more difficulty than usual, when the lights suddenly, without warning, winked out. He cursed, incanting an abnormally strong Protego silently, just in case. Ingenious, but so very underhand, especially for his idiot Gryffindor child –

"Oh, don't be that way, Severus – you've used this trick on me at least three times, now – "

"Flaminis!"

White light streaked across the room, aimed in the approximate direction of his son's voice. But blast it all, Severus could make out the deadly, near-invisible arc of peach light spinning into him from above, and he'd hardly have time – "Integumentum vis!" The powerful blue of the Shield of Power vibrated around him as the peach light thrummed against it – the Annelli viris, he'd stake his wand on it –

"Acus acuminis!" Severus twitched in surprise – and the rain of stinging needles were coming from entirely the wrong direction – he cast up a Wall Charm to replace the powerful shield, knowing it would illuminate him, but hoping it would also –

Aha! "Veneficus suspendo!"

A muffled yelp and clatter told Severus what he needed to hear. A simple Lumos set the lights blazing again, only to reveal another rain of needles heading directly for him – "Fingere vallum! Cease immediately, Tobias - !"

"Let me down, you foul – "

"Finite. If I hadn't seen the needles – "

"Too fucking bad. Thought you had me cornered, didn't you – "

"Apparently not, Mr. Wandless-magic-coming-out-my-ears – "

"You deserved it!"

"I deserved to be blinded by your idiocy?"

"I've told you I don't like to be upside down – "

"Imagine, Potter, for one moment, that I am your enemy – "

"You're my father, for fuck's sake – "

" – I would certainly use your fear against you – "

" – that's no excuse to – "

" – you need to DEAL WITH YOUR FEAR – "

"Why don't YOU DEAL WITH IT – "

The door slammed open, halting the two angry men for a minute as a familiar brown-and-grey head popped in, followed cautiously by a shabby body. Lupin – of all the people to –

"Tell him, Remus – "

"Stay out of it, Lupin – "

"Severus, Har – please, be – "

"He hung me upside down!"

"Not a word, Lupin!"

"Quiet!" Severus stared at the man – ah, right, the full moon was in a few – "I'm fine, thank you. Thank you for asking." Severus heard his son huff impatiently in the corner of Severus' eye, and gave him a glare in return.

"Don't look at me like that – "

"I said QUIET!" Lupin snarled, slamming the door. "Do you want to trade insults with your father, Harry, or do you want to listen to my important information?" Tobias scowled, sullenly crossing his arms. It fitted him, Severus realized with absent shock, more than it had ever done that bastard James Potter, or the figment of overactive, vindictive imagination that he'd shaped into Harry Potter.

"Would you take a seat, Lupin?" he offered, as politely as he could allow, gesturing towards one as he took his customary one. Lupin gave him an incredulous look, and shook his shaggy head in answer, even as the boy sank rebelliously into a chair.

"Dumbledore sent me to say the fake Harry will be here in an hour, and that you and the real Harry," Lupin cast a slightly apologetic look in his direction, entirely destroying the effect of the glare he'd been giving him up to that point, "should be ready to go to Diagon Alley in about half an hour from then."

"What? But that – "

"It's simpler that way, see – the Order's in full force in the Alley this morning, because of rumours of the Death Eaters hitting Gringotts again in the evening – " That couldn't be right – the Dark Lord was clearly doing nothing until Tuesday that week –

"Lupin, I verified those rumours as false, did I not?"

"The Headmaster said you weren't supposed to tell us, though, were you? So you didn't, and Order doesn't know any better. The Ally will be teeming with Order members, and – "

"What of the boy's displacement lag – international Apparation is always – "

"Didn't the fake me do smaller jumps, to be seen by more people?" Tobias interjected, voice still sullen. "You get less displacement lag that way – "

"It still does not account for your perfect health in half an hour, Po – Tobias," Severus said sharply. This was a sensitive matter – Dumbledore's order, as much as it made sense, simply did not, could not compute –

"You're a Potions Master, Severus – no one will suspect foul play," Lupin said, fidgeting with his patched sleeve. "A powerful Strengthening Solution and thirty minutes of rest would be enough to allow a quick trip to Diagon Alley and back here, would it not?" Severus grudgingly gave his assent. He supposed the Headmaster had thought this thro -

"So," Tobias piped up, the hostile set eroding gradually from his frame, "who's the fake Harry, then?" Lupin gave Severus a longsuffering look. He sneered in return – he'd had to deal with training the brat, hadn't he, while Lupin had been off gallivanting on raids with that Tonks girl, smothering her in werewolf spunk to boot –

"You know I can't tell you that." Tobias smiled, shrugging disarmingly. Lupin finally seemed to break down, going for one of the last two empty chairs. Severus stood immediately, knowing to leave the two for a moment, however short it would be. Har – Tobias had eventually settled back into something approximating his usual sickening camaraderie with the werewolf, broken by frequent bursts of temper (on the brat's side) in response to impassioned speeches on morals and temperament (on Lupin's side, of course).

Severus could not help banging the dungeon door shut behind him, as he stalked off to find some suitable attire for his son. It was like clockwork, for Merlin's sake – every time the idiot werewolf reappeared, Harry, his son, would sit down and natter companionably with the dolt. Like a pair of old witches two eggs short of a dozen –

Severus slammed the rickety wardrobe shut, darting out the dungeon with several drab combinations of colourless shirt and worn robes. He didn't like to think he was affected by the whole thing – the idea, in itself, was just ridiculous.

Not nearly as ridiculous as the few remnants of his son's clothing, however. Severus wrinkled his large nose in distaste at the shabby, too-large jeans – at least, he supposed that was what they were called – and huge trousers. But that pair had promise – wasn't torn anywhere – and a proper shade of almost-black. Dark grey, really, but an hour was an hour, and these things could be altered.

He returned to see Lupin laughing with his son, and forced himself not to slam the dungeon door as he entered. Har – Tobias looked darkly handsome, his imperfect face stretched into a grin that reminded him oddly of Harry. Lupin looked his usual weary self, if a little less taut, a little more alive. Their laughter died down somewhat as he stomped into the room, laying down the murky clothes in a heap on the table.

Tobias sighed and looked resigned as they went through the sorry pile, perking up occasionally as they talked of intrigue and the underlying message of his shabby outfit. Soon enough, he'd ducked out of the dungeon to change – still ashamed of his scars, the idiot, when they only add what that silly Parkinson chit would call character – and had ducked back in before Lupin could tell him anything of note, save that the Vadim girl was using every possible method to 'legitimately' sneak her way into the raids.

Severus watched his son closely as he and Lupin turned him about, shrinking the trousers as carefully as they could, and lightening and tightening the soft grey shirt Tobias had stubbornly insisted on. Soon enough – after telling the boy that yes, the trousers were supposed to be that tight – they were ready, and Lupin had gone out, Polyjuiced as Severus, to meet the fake Tobias.

His son was so many more things now. Scarred, defiant, ashamed, intriguing, powerful – surprisingly intelligent –

"Severus," the deep voice startled him slightly, forcing him to actually look the brat in the eye. A cold smile twisted its way onto Tobias' face in a way that was eerily familiar. "Calm down, for Merlin's sake." A slim hand squeezed his shoulder momentarily. "Relax, will you?"

And, as Severus Snape looked into his son's slightly uncertain green eyes, he found himself doing just that.

And, as they received the signal to depart for the Alley, he decided that they'd be able to face anything thrown at them, this bright afternoon, even if it was the Dark Lord himself. For what was he do, faced with father and son? Severus found himself smiling against his will. Turn and run. Tactical retreat, the bastard would call it…

"Ready, Tobias?" His son took the cracked pot of Floo powder diffidently, handsome look of distaste in place, as agreed.

"Ready, Severus." Green flames soared high, and then – "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Severus followed after him, heart abnormally light within his black-robed breast.

Endnotes:

(1) Wretched.

(2) Ridiculous.

(3) No.

(4) Fine.

(5) Yes, I'm sorry

(6) Stupid

A/N: Yeah, I feel good. Do you feel good? Yeah, I've a test tomorrow, and I'm posting this up instead of studying. Do I feel lucky? Not particularly. It's a lateish morning class, and the subject pushes my good buttons occasionally, so I'll do fine.

Well, well, well. Thanks to everyone that reviewed so far! Keep them coming, people – I love hearing from you guys, especially if it's with questions wink wink. Oh, and please do tell me if the sentence about Apparation early on was too forced – I kinda added that in at the last minute.

Sorry about the cliff-hanger, but said test beckons. And I think some of you remember the snippet you'll definitely be seeing next chapter, which is tentatively named: Chapter 10 – Events on the Alley. And that should just about write itself, so you'll be seeing that latest by Saturday or Sunday.